A Hidden Pool in the Bamboo: Liu Zongyuan's Journey to the Small Stone Tarn
Finding the Water Behind the Bamboo
Liu Zongyuan's Xiao Shi Tan Ji (小石潭记) is a short travel essay written in 805 CE during his exile in Yongzhou (modern Hunan). It is the fourth of his famous "Eight Records of Yongzhou." The essay begins with a sound: Cong xiao qiu xi xing bai er shi bu, ge huang zhu, wen shui sheng, ru ming pei huan, xin le zhi. (从小丘西行百二十步，隔篁竹，闻水声，如鸣珮环，心乐之。) Walking west from a small hill, he hears water through the bamboo grove, ringing like jade pendants. His heart lifts. He cuts a path through the bamboo, and below finds a tiny pool of water so clear and cold it seems to belong to another world.
Fish Swimming in the Air
The most famous lines describe the water's impossible clarity: Tan zhong yu ke bai xu tou, jie ruo kong you wu suo yi. Ri guang xia che, ying bu shi shang. Yi ran bu dong, chu er yuan shi, wang lai xi hu, si yu you zhe xiang le. (潭中鱼可百许头，皆若空游无所依。日光下澈，影布石上。佁然不动，俶尔远逝，往来翕忽，似与游者相乐。) About a hundred fish seem to float in mid-air, with nothing beneath them. Sunlight drills straight to the bottom, and their shadows lie on the stones like paintings. They hang still, then dart away, playing with the visitor. Liu Zongyuan never once says "the water is clean." He simply shows us fish with no water around them, and we understand.
A Stream That Hides Its Source
Looking southwest, he follows the stream: Tan xi nan er wang, dou zhe she xing, ming mie ke jian. Qi an shi quan ya cha hu, bu ke zhi qi yuan. (潭西南而望，斗折蛇行，明灭可见。其岸势犬牙差互，不可知其源。) The water twists like the Big Dipper, crawls like a snake, flickering in and out of sight. The banks are jagged like dog's teeth, and no one can tell where the stream begins. It is a perfect picture of mystery—beauty that leads you forward, then quietly refuses to reveal its secret.
The Cold That Reaches the Bone
At last Liu Zongyuan sits by the pool and feels the truth of the place: Zuo tan shang, si mian zhu shu huan he, ji liao wu ren, qi shen han gu, qiao chuang you sui. Yi qi jing guo qing, bu ke jiu ju, nai ji zhi er qu. (坐潭上，四面竹树环合，寂寥无人，凄神寒骨，悄怆幽邃。以其境过清，不可久居，乃记之而去。) Bamboo and trees close in on all sides. There is no one, only silence. The place is too clear, too cold. It seeps into his spirit and chills his bones. He cannot stay long. He writes these words and leaves. Behind the beauty of the water and the fish, the essay hides the heart of a man who was sent into exile for speaking the truth. The small stone pool is lovely, but its loneliness is his own.
